


Homeless

by grumpyphoenix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1231021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpyphoenix/pseuds/grumpyphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is processing Sam's recent revelation. <br/>Based off 9x13 "The Purge"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homeless

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction ever, be kind. :) Dean's always been suicidal, I just thought this might bring him to the brink. Shown to no one, not edited much.

_“No, Dean. I wouldn’t. Same circumstances, I wouldn’t.”_

He closes his eyes, and downs the rest of his drink, as if he could wince the words away. Just like the first night, when Sam decided they weren't brothers, he can't sleep. Or won't even try. Long after Sam has left for bed, or whatever the hell he's doing, Dean paces in the kitchen and drinks. Then he moves to his room, because he's exhausted the supply in the kitchen.   
Here, he drinks and he cleans his weapons. He starts with the blades, sharpening the edges, and re-wrapping the handles. He even goes out to the car and gets everything from the trunk. When he's done with those, he moves on to guns. Shotguns first, and then pistols. Methodically going through each one, and emptying his bottle of whiskey as he does. 

Dean sits on his memory foam mattress, and thinks about home. For a long time, he called the Impala home, but it wasn't even true. Sam was his home. He'd never felt homeless, despite the lack of address, never until Sam left him for Stanford. Bobby was home, but even the building was gone now. And Sam.. Sam.. 

He sits, and looks at the last gun, Sam's voice echoing in his head. Then he stands and paces, rubbing his eyes. He's so very tired, and he can't think. His vision has narrowed to a tunnel, and he can't see, he can't breathe. Panting, Dean pauses in the middle of his room, frantic with unquenchable need and grief.   
"Please," he begs the ceiling, whispers into the oppressive silence, "Please help me. I.. I can't. " The ceiling has no answers, the bunker feels empty, he is so very alone.   
Dean feels himself teetering over an abyss, but this time there's no Archangel to give himself to, and no Sam to catch him when he falls. Maybe, maybe this time he can just give in, and let himself go. What is the upside, indeed, Sam.

  
The phone rings a few times before he registers the sound, and he has to put the gun down to answer it. His voice cracks as he answers, grinding out "What."

  
_"Dean."_ He sounds like he's been chewing gravel, as always, but the sound whips an electric response through Dean's body, and he almost sobs a response into the phone.

**_"Dean,"_** Castiel insists when Dean says nothing. _"I heard you. I'm on my way home. Wait, for me. "_

  
Dean clears his throat, and nods. Then he realizes that Cas can't see that, and grates, "yes. Yes, okay, Cas. I.. I'll wait. For you to get here. "

He can hear the smile in Castiel's voice. _"Good. Good, Dean. Get some sleep now, you will see me soon. "_

And Dean, phone clutched in his hand, is already there.


End file.
